"The Bulwark's Shadow" - A Novel in Progress via Steemit (Part I, Chapter 13)

I'm posting up the chapters of this uncompleted book as I hope the Steemit community might offer up its criticism (which would, in turn, force me to finish it, honestly). Started in 2008, this was my first foray into novel writing and was my undergraduate thesis required to graduate. The story is about an executioner in the not-too-distant future. Executioners are highly trained individuals with extensive educations built to help them execute their prisoners in the exact same manner that the prisoner's victims died. This is called the law of retaliation or lex talionis; you may know it better as "eye for an eye."

Because I was also getting my degree in philosophy, I wanted to explore the ethics involved. While I feel I'm a better writer now and could certainly expand most of this book, I also really enjoy criticism as I'm usually too close to the work to see what's working and what's not (though in this case, there's plenty that I feel is not working). So please...feel free to criticize the work if you'd like, but be constructive about it. Simply saying "this part isn't good" doesn't tell me much; don't hesitate to tell me why it's not good or offer up possible alternatives to make it better.

Thanks in advance!

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Previous Sections/Chapters:

The Bulwark's Shadow - Part I, Chapter One
The Bulwark's Shadow - Part I, Chapter Two
The Bulwark's Shadow - Part I, Chapter Three
The Bulwark's Shadow - Part I, Chapter Four
The Bulwark's Shadow - Part I, Chapter Five
The Bulwark's Shadow - Part I, Chapter Six
The Bulwark's Shadow - Part I, Chapter Seven
The Bulwark's Shadow - Part I, Chapter Eight
The Bulwark's Shadow - Part I, Chapter Nine
The Bulwark's Shadow - Part I, Chapter Ten
The Bulwark's Shadow - Part I, Chapter Eleven
The Bulwark's Shadow - Part I, Chapter Twelve

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I had seen Father Josef roaming the halls of the prison that following week. Erik had been in charge of that week’s execution and Father Josef was, by happenstance, our ‘go-to’ guy for last rites when it came to prisoners. He was usually there all day long in case a pardon from the Governor had been phoned in at any point. Normally, we never heard from him, but there had been a few cases of late salvation and Father Josef would go home a minute or two early, rarely ever sooner. He liked to float through the halls in the same manner that I did and said it helped him to understand the gravitas of the situation, mentally prepared him for what was to come. I couldn’t argue this point as I did the same thing on execution days. Today we walked together after we forced down our respective lunches.

His robes swished quietly as we filled the hallway. I took up most of it, being the more massive of the two of us, but Father Josef always seemed to have a certain kind of aura around him that made him seem larger than he actually was. He smelled of the musky incense and prayer that calmed me even when I didn’t need it and I slowed my steps down to match his own as they echoed quietly through the dungeon I called home during the day.

“How goes your issue?” he asked, truly concerned.

I rubbed my chin as we turned the corner towards the catacombs, escorting him towards today’s execution. “I’m decidedly indifferent for the moment, but that could change. I still have no answer, so I’m trying to leave the issue in the hands of the courts.” A breeze blew past us as we neared the entrance to the catacombs. Father Josef wrapped himself up tighter in his robe as I kept walking, unaffected.

The lighting down here changed the closer you got the catacombs. It didn’t dim, but the lights were spaced out further apart and could give one, unaccustomed to the construction of the place, a feeling of disorientation. The dark spots had always bothered Father Josef but never seemed long enough for me. We walked through lengthy spots of pure black and it felt as if he moved closer towards me through those absences of lit floor.

“You didn’t seem indifferent last week,” he finally muttered.

I shook my head in the dark. “No, but I think that’s how I need to be right now. Out of all the executions I’ve done over the years, I’ve never questioned myself or the court’s decision. The people or the judge, in my opinion, have usually been pretty spot on with their decision. If I start questioning myself now, I might as well just stop doing what I do.”

I could hear him sigh slightly in the dark. “Brein, have you ever heard of the ‘99 to 1’ theory?” he asked.

“It sounds vaguely familiar,” I replied hearing my voice echo off the walls.

“Basically what it says is that for every 99 guilty men that get imprisoned, one innocent man gets imprisoned as well. So, for what you do, chances are good that one out of every hundred men you execute is innocent.” I could hear him suck in a breath as we stepped into the next patch of black. “While I personally am not comfortable with that ratio, are you?” This was something we had discussed in my Court Ethics class. It wasn’t fresh in my mind, but I remembered it.

“Yes,” I said, feeling my strides slow down in the black. “At least, I’m pretty sure I am. A one percent leeway is something I can deal with. Five to ten, not so much, but if it gets a rapist or a molester off the streets for good, why shouldn’t I feel okay with an innocent dying to secure that ideal?”

“What if the innocent were the norm rather than the exception?” he asked. “Suppose the innocent was part of the ninety-nine rather than the one? What if one out of every ninety-nine people you killed was guilty? Would that change your viewpoint?” I knew he wasn’t smiling, but it felt that way in the dark.

“Of course not. That would mean we had failed somewhere along the line,” I said. “That would be absurd and completely unlikely.”

I could hear his footsteps stop in the hallway and I turned around to face him. He was bathed in the half-light of halogen and I could only see part of his face. “But,” he continued, “imagine that it wasn’t unlikely. Imagine that you were sending ninety-nine innocent men to their deaths. How would that make you feel?” He moved closer, almost standing directly in front of me. “What if…” he started.

“There is no ‘what if,’” I replied, stepping around him and continuing our walk to the catacombs. “Only right or wrong. The middle area is a product of those who think guilt comes in shades of gray and I can’t believe in shades of gray down here.” I could hear my voice echo as I opened up the door to the catacombs. My answer felt half-hollow as I swiped my key card through the slot. The main door opened and we stepped into the main part of the Violent pen. I waved at Simon and the boys and we continued on to hub three.

“So you think there’s no middle ground? Just a pure black and white?” he asked, an amused tone to his voice.

“I think that the people down here are down here for a reason and I’m the reason the people top-side can sleep at night. That’s all I need to know,” I replied.

“Yet you seek my advice for the very one percent that seems to slip through the cracks,” he asked. “Or what you think is the one percent.” We passed by several well-lit cells as I mulled over the idea. “Do you not know that the saints will judge the world?” he muttered. “And if you are to judge the world, are you not competent to judge trivial cases? Do you not know that we will judge angels? How much more the things of this life! That’s First Corinthians.” We had stopped in front of a cell. Jansen, the man behind the hard plastic enclosure paced around the cell as we stood in the dark area surrounding it. “Brein, did you ever think that perhaps you delude yourself into thinking that what you do is not only just, but proper?”

“Father, I have to accept that. The minute I don’t, guys like this,” I said, pointing out Jensen, “get put back onto the streets. I can’t allow that.”

Father Josef slipped his hands into the open cuffs of his robe and watched Jensen for a moment. “What did he did do?”

I leaned back against the wall and folded my arms against my chest. “Jensen is the kind of guy that has a penchant for young children. He has no sense of age in regards to propriety. You see the papers underneath his bunk?” I asked, gesturing towards the stack of notebooks piling up underneath.

“I do.”

“Jensen thinks those are fictional books that he himself is writing. The scary thing is, almost every one of the entries in them coincides with a particular murder or molestation he involved himself in. The children lived. The parents didn’t. You tell me what’s fair about that. What’s fair about a child losing a parent after they’ve had their innocence taken away? While the parent is watching, no less?”

Father Josef closed his eyes and murmured something in the dark. “C’mon. I want to show you someone else. I corralled him out of hub three and over to hub four. We walked in silence as I led him to cell sixteen. Towalski’s cell.

He sat on his bunk, much like before, but didn’t seem to realize we were there this time. He was in the Lotus position on his bunk again. His eyes were closed as his wrists rested on his knees and we felt the need to be as quiet as possible. “Who is this?” Father Josef asked quietly, as if Towalski would’ve heard him through the glass.

“This is my guy,” I muttered. The silence of the hallways seemed to mute our voices as Josef took a step forward. I threw my arm across his chest to prevent his movement. “Don’t get too close. I don’t want him to see you in your…outfit. If he sees you, he might think it’s his time. Regardless of the crime, he shouldn’t think it’s his time to die yet.”

Father Josef nodded in understanding and stepped back into the dark with me, not arguing. “Do you think he did it?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Dunno. He wouldn’t talk last time I came down here. Completely shut me out and I have to admit, it weirded me out a little bit,” I said, clutching today’s file a little tighter. “Assuming he didn’t, but the courts and jury say he did, what would you do?” I asked.

“I would hope for a swift and just punishment, I suppose,” he said breathlessly.

I nodded. “Suppose his punishment were neither swift nor just?” Towalski tilted his head as if to crack his neck and went back to his meditative state. “C’mon Father, I shouldn’t have brought you down here yet. Hell, I shouldn’t have even tried to talk to him in the first place.” We left hub four and headed back to Jensen’s cell in hub three when the alarm went off and kept us in lockdown in the hallway. Thankfully, the sirens were outside the lockdown doors, but Father Josef grimaced as he covered his ears. He still hadn’t gotten used to the sound. It was Pavlovian for me, however. The moment I step into the chamber, I’m no longer Brein, I’m the felon ferryman sending criminals to an appropriate grave. The same happens when the sirens go off, only I get to be as brutal as I need to be and many times, the brutality is necessary.

Instinctively, I pressed him against the wall, handed him Jensen’s file and pulled out my electraprod. The faint blue glow at the end was comforting as I led him to the end of the tunnel and waited for the doors to open up. I didn’t know which way the altercation was coming from, but I had a pretty good idea that Jensen had tried to make a break for it during the pre-execution prep time. I felt Josef clutching the back of my shirt. “What’s going on?” I heard him yell from behind me.

“Not sure yet, but I need you to stay behind me no matter what!” I screamed back at him. I heard the thudding of fists on the lockdown door and knew I was on the right side of the tunnel. Whoever it was wouldn’t have enough time to build up speed against me and they surely wouldn’t realize someone was already down here to stop them. I reached a hand back and pressed Father Josef further back. I planted my feet akimbo and tried to fill the entire length of the hallway with my body, waiting to put the hurt into someone when the doors opened.

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More Chapters:

The Bulwark's Shadow - Part I, Chapter Fourteen
The Bulwark's Shadow - Part I, Chapter Fifteen
The Bulwark's Shadow - Part I, Chapter Sixteen